


After the Storm

by die_traumerei



Series: Figurative [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, cap steve/modern bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7244878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating a superhero isn't all roses and sexy musculature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to the poster on Metafilter who declared that they would never waste their writing talent on fanfiction.
> 
> Eat a bag of dicks.

_**Steve Cell:** Hey sweetheart. Mission done, might not be home for a few hours._

_**Bucky's phone:** I know, love. FRIDAY gave me the lowdown. want me to come to the Tower?_

_**Steve Cell:** nah. want to be in brooklyn._

_**Bucky's phone:** my place or yours?_

_**Steve Cell:** can I come to yours?_

_**Bucky's phone:** Of course, Steve, anything you want. I'm working tomorrow afternoon, but I'm all yours today and tomorrow morning._

_**Bucky's phone:** FRIDAY said you got hurt, love. what can I do?_

_**Steve Cell:** it's nothing, just a broken arm. Which you know._

_**Bucky's phone:** Hah, yeah, um, does Tony know about HIPAA?_

_**Bucky's phone:** Anyway, I'll have dinner waiting for you._

_**Steve Cell:** thanks_

_**Bucky's phone:** I love you, Stevie. It'll be okay._

_**Steve Cell:** yeah. of course._

 

Steve did, technically, make it inside before Bucky was wrapped around him (gingerly and completely), but only just.

“Hey,” he mumbled into Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky kissed the side of his head, wrinkling his nose a little. Steve smelled like gunpowder and blood and destruction.

“Hi,” Bucky whispered, and kissed Steve's cheek, and smiled into the warm, if filthy, skin. “Aww yeah, one-armed hugs all 'round.”

Steve surprised him with a chuckle, and he finally let go enough to look Steve up and down, although kept him close enough that both of his arms – or at least, what there was of the left one – were touching Steve. “How you feeling?”

“Nat got hurt,” Steve blurted out, his eyes downcast. What, like he thought Bucky was going to blame him?

“I know,” Bucky said patiently. “FRIDAY doesn't know about privacy, remember?”

“Oh.” Steve deflated a little. “D'you want to go see her? We can go back to the Tower if you want.”

Big words from a man who looked dead on his feet, Bucky thought to himself. “I've already got a note in my calendar to see her tomorrow before work,” he said, leading Steve further into the apartment. “I just wanna take care of my guy tonight.”

Steve stared harder at the ground. “I'm not really hurt.”

Steve was literally the worst liar in the whole world. Not about the hurting – Bucky was sure he actually wasn't in all that much pain – but because he couldn't hide the relief in his voice, and the selfish pleasure. What a total dumbass. Bucky was so in love it hurt.

“I know. I've seen your healing factor work,” Bucky reminded him, and ran his fingers through Steve's hair, greasy and dirty as it was. “I still want to see just _you_ tonight, love.” He tilted Steve's chin up and kissed him. “What's wrong?”

Steve made a face. “I need a shower.” And not to talk about his feelings – well, fair enough. It wasn't Bucky's job to make him.

It  _was_ his job to kiss Steve again. “Go clean up then, love. You need help?” he asked, touching the sling Steve wore.

“Nah, I'm fine. It's not even – oh, here, you haven't seen this before, you'll like it.” He smiled at Bucky and shrugged the sling off, pushing his sleeve up so Bucky could see. His arm was encased in a white plastic brace; it was almost beautiful, a honeycomb pattern that was open enough that Steve could shower with it on, but rigid enough to hold the limb still, molded perfectly in place.

“Whoa, yes, that's really cool.” Bucky carefully didn't wince at the dark bruising on Steve's arm. “How long you gotta wear it?”

Steve made a face. “A few days. I'll be practically healed tomorrow though, it's so dumb.”

Bucky grinned at him. “Rough life. Go shower, sweetheart, and get out of that uniform. Lasagne's in the oven, but I need you to help me get it out, I made the really  _big_ pan.”

Steve finally gave him a real smile. “Thanks, baby. For everything.”

Bucky watched him go down the hallway, and took a deep breath, then another. Steve was safe. He wasn't even hurt badly. Nat was worse, but she'd be okay too. And Steve was home; Bucky would make sure he ate his fill (and kept eating – he suddenly had snacks  _everywhere_ in his apartment) and was kissed a lot and held more. Slept enough, soothed, and if it comforted Bucky to remember that his best guy would be all right and was right there and was whole and basically healthy, that  was a good bonus too.

He went to check on dinner, and put in a baguette to warm up in the last few minutes. Bucky was rather pleased to find out that he'd timed everything perfectly; Steve appeared just in time to grasp the other side of the huge pan of lasagne, cheese browned and bubbling, and help him pull it out.

They ate quietly at first, Steve clearly ravenous and Bucky happy to just watch him and refill his plate regularly. After his fourth helping, he slowed down, just nibbling here and there. “That was fantastic,” he said, looking up with a quick smile. “Thank you. You didn't have to...thanks.”

“Love, you know I like cooking for us,” Bucky said. “You want a little more?”

“Nah. I'm actually full.” Steve smiled, then laughed. “It's...wow. Thank you. I really feel better.”

“Well, good.” Bucky gave the top of his head a little smooch, and went to put the leftovers into containers he could actually fit into his fridge. “You wanna watch stupid YouTube stuff?”

Steve shrugged. “Whatever's fine. 'm probably gonna fall asleep soon, sorry.”

“Hey.” Bucky came back over and settled in Steve's lap for a moment, stroking the soft hair on the nape of his neck. “You're the guy out fighting all day, sleep anytime you want.” He smiled and kissed Steve, light and sweet. “I'll bring my laptop to bed and you can fall asleep whenever while I watch every baby sloth video ever uploaded.”

Steve smiled and wrapped his arm around Bucky's waist. “What did I ever do without you?”

“Have a higher tolerance for Tony.” Bucky snuggled close for a moment, careful to lie on Steve's good side. “Love you, Steve.” Another kiss, which drifted into another, and Bucky was damn well not going to give up the chance to neck with his boyfriend. It would do Steve good, anyway. Kissing him stupid usually did. And he needed this too; needed to remember that his love was home, and would be well soon. That Steve was alive and warm and kissing him back easily, his hand on Bucky's back.

“Love you too,” Steve murmured, cuddling Bucky close for a moment. “Thank you.”

Bucky kissed right between Steve's eyes. “Always. Go crawl into bed; I'll clean up a little here and be right in.”

“I should clean, you cooked,” Steve protested.

“You're hurt and exhausted. Bed, baby,” Bucky ordered, standing up and pulling Steve up after him, sending him on his way with a little smack to his ass.

“Okay, but only because I want to, not because you say so.”

“Someday some evil genius is gonna do something to painlessly shut you up, and I am gonna bake them a cake.”

Steve stuck his tongue out because he was a decorated war veteran, and Bucky kissed him again, and patted his ass, and he finally went on his way.

Bucky went into his bedroom as silently as he could, and smiled when he saw  Steve sprawled in the bed, fast asleep. At least he'd changed first, and taken the sling off. He was lit by...well, not moonlight coming through the skylight, because there wasn't really moonlight in New York. But the ambient light brought out the sharp planes of his body, his face looking for a moment like the skinny guy Bucky had seen only in pictures.

He moved as quietly as he could, but still woke Steve when he crawled into bed.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Here, on your side – no, keep a pillow under your arm,” he said, arranging Steve with light touches, and a little caress for the broken arm, the bruises now almost entirely healed. “You'll thank me in the morning. No, stay like that, I'll be big spoon.”

“Kay,” Steve said. “'m sorry, 'm bad company.”

“Yeah, you're pretty shitty,” Bucky teased, and kissed Steve's cheek. “Rest, love. We'll hang out tomorrow before I gotta go, and we'll have all tomorrow night to ourselves.” He stroked Steve's shoulder until he drifted off – about twenty seconds – and kissed his hair again, breathing in the smell of his own shampoo. Steve was okay. A broken arm was nothing to him, and he'd sleep off the exhaustion and the pain, safe in Bucky's bed. Steve had come home to him again; nothing else mattered.

Bucky watched a couple  animal videos until he was yawning, then curled around Steve's body and drifted off, his cheek pressed against Steve's shoulder, feeling the soft, slow breaths of the sleeping man.

 

“Steve. Steve, it's okay. Wake up, you're safe.”

Steve gasped as he woke up from the nightmare, sucked in more breath than should have been possible, and opened his eyes. The room was still dark, lit by the ambient street light; still more than enough to make out Bucky standing by the door, almost as far from the bed as he could get. His stance was easy and relaxed. Great – that just meant Steve hadn't thrashed around this time, or if he did, he hadn't hit Bucky.

(That had been a bad night. The worst.)

“Hey honey. You with me?” Bucky called.

Steve gasped another breath, nodded, sucked air again. Why was there no air? Why wasn't his arm working? What was – this was like the bad old days –

“You're safe Steve. Breathe slow for me, okay? In, two, three, four. Hold your breath. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven.” Bucky coached him through another round of breathing, then another, more slow breathing until there was enough air, and he wasn't making horrible sucking sounds. “Okay if I come over?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

Bucky sat next to him, body open and welcome, but not touching him just yet. “You're in Brooklyn, you're in my apartment, in my bed. You arm is broken, that's why you can't move your wrist, but you're safe. You're safe, baby, and you're not alone.”

Steve nodded, and rubbed at his face. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.” Bucky's voice was still low and calm. He had met with Steve's therapist, and talked to a PTSD specialist. Steve knew he was a regular on a forum with other partners of people with PTSD. He'd learned his heart out, to be able to support Steve, to keep them both safe when Steve's mind and body failed again. “You with me, love?”

“Y-yeah.” Steve scrubbed at his face again. “I am.”

“You want a washcloth or something?” Water by itself was bad, but a warm cloth to wipe his face and neck helped.

Steve nodded, face burning. He should get up and get it; Bucky needed a lot of sleep. Bucky shouldn't be up and running around in the middle of the night; if he didn't get enough rest he got headaches and his memory got worse; he had to work the next day and Steve should never have spent the night. He should have known better, should have gone home to his own bed.

The bed sank again as Bucky came back and pressed the warm cloth into Steve's hand. He took it automatically and swiped at his eyes, the roughness shocking him back into himself a little.

“Hey, hey. Can I?” Bucky asked, and Steve handed the cloth over.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the warm cloth against his skin. Bucky was sitting close enough that he could rest his stump against Steve's bicep, steadying him a little, and wiping his face off. He was gentle and methodical; washed his face, the back of his neck, then one arm, then the other, particularly gentle with his wrist in its brace.

“I've got you, love.” He set the cloth aside and Steve folded himself in Bucky's embrace, head on his shoulder. “You're safe, honey. It's the most beautiful night, and you're warm and dry and there's plenty of food and plenty of water. All we have to do is take care of each other.”

“Did I hurt you?” Steve asked, dreading the answer.

“No, love. You started to move around and it woke me up; you didn't even touch me.” Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I'm safe, too.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Good.”

“I know what to do,” Bucky reminded him, and then shifted so he was cradling Steve even closer. “Do you need something to eat? Drink?”

Steve shook his head. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Mmm. Not just yet.” Bucky said. “I wanna stay like this for a minute, is that okay?”

Steve let out a long breath. “Yeah. I like...yeah.”

“You like this?” Bucky asked, and gave Steve a little kiss when he nodded. “You're allowed,” he reminded him. “You can want. That's how it works between us. We take care of each other.”

“You shouldn't have to take care of me.”

“And you shouldn't have to remind me when I forget we made plans for something, but you do.”

“That's different,” Steve protested. “That's not your fault!”

“And reacting to stress is your fault?” Bucky asked. Steve could _hear_ the raised eyebrow in his voice.

“I chose to be an Avenger. I choose to do what I do. The fallout shouldn't be your responsibility.”

“It isn't. It's yours. But caring for you, loving you – that _is_ mine, and I'm proud of it. Like I'm proud of you.”

“You don't deserve this, you deserve _better_ than this,” Steve tried to insist, even as he still lay there in Bucky's arms, because he was a coward. He should have stopped this at the beginning, from the moment a gorgeous man tripped on nothing, landed in front of him and brightly informed the carpet that he was Bucky Barnes. Falling in love shouldn't have been allowed to happen.

“Do I get a say in my own life?” Bucky asked mildly.

Steve cringed. “Sorry.”

“I know. Stop, I'm not angry with you, love. But I chose this too. I know what you did from the beginning.”

“You really understood what you were getting into?” Steve asked bitterly. “How I'd make you worry, how I'd scare you, how I wouldn't always come home in one piece? How I'm never okay?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky said. “There was no way I'd know how scared I would be. And no way I'd know how much I love you. I didn't know the worst of it, but I didn't know the best of it either.”

“I hate this,” Steve said, and Bucky held him tighter.

“I do too,” he murmured. “But I love you, and I love what's between us. I love that I can hold you in the middle of the night, and I love that you'll wake up before me and run out and get breakfast for us tomorrow. I love that when my whole body hurts, you know what to do to help, or you're okay with canceling all our plans because I have to stay in bed. And that when I feel better, you'll have some amazing adventure planned, or you'll go along with my plan.” Bucky pressed a kiss into Steve's hair, and whether it was the dark or the tiredness or the little glow of life in the quiet city, Steve listened, and for a moment, let himself believe.

“You're definitely gettin' the good bagels tomorrow.”

Bucky laughed out loud, and gave Steve an extra little squeeze, very quickly. “Damn straight I am.” He yawned, and nuzzled Steve's temple. “Status report, please.”

“Wide awake,” Steve admitted. “And, um, hungry. There's leftovers in the fridge, right?”

“Uh huh.” Bucky yawned again. “C'mon, let's go have a midnight snack.”

“Unh-unh. I'll go have a midnight snack, you go back to sleep.” Steve turned around in Bucky's arms and kissed him. “You need the rest, love, especially if we're gonna visit Nat before you go to work tomorrow.”

“Shit, you're right.” Bucky gave the world a dark look. “You really promise me you're okay? Nat'll keep, if you need me now.”

“I promise.” Steve held Bucky's hand over his heart, back to its usual slow, steady beat. “I'll come back to bed once I've got some calories in me. Might just read, but I'll be here.”

Bucky gave him a long, searching gaze, but was quickly satisfied. “I'm sorry,” he said ruefully. “My turn to be the pain in the ass boyfriend.”

“Hah.” Bucky couldn't be a pain in the ass if he tried, except for when Steve tried to get up early to go running and Bucky wrapped around him with all the strength and tenacity of an octopus. He waited until Bucky was lying down again, and covered him with the duvet. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his good hand resting on Bucky's back.

Bucky's eyes slid open, sleepy and dark, the pupils gone wide in the dim light. He just smiled, and curled up, and dropped off to sleep.

Steve moved silently through the quiet apartment, eating quickly and making a face at the brace on his arm – his wrist barely ached, and not being able to move it was annoying. He snagged a book off of Bucky's shelves on his way back to the bedroom, and put on the dim fairy lights – enough to read by, but not enough to wake Bucky who, indeed, didn't even stir.

Steve smiled down at him, at the long hair pulled back for bed, showing the shaved sides of his head. At the slim, warm body that curled up beside him, relaxed and trusting. Steve would be up for the rest of the night, but he could watch over his sweetheart, could read in the cozy pool of light.

They'd have nights like this again, though. And fuck if he wouldn't give _anything_ to stop them, for both their sakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I promise, I will keep up with this 'verse as regularly as I can :)
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
